


Miracle of Waking

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, More Fluff, chaser of sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:11:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every morning, Dean has a miracle in his bed. </p><p>A ficlet for my very dearest a_geo_girl, who is gracefully sauntering downward into the quagmires of fandom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miracle of Waking

Every morning for the past three months, Dean had this miracle in his bed: a long sloppy line of a man with a frown on his face and a wrinkle in his brow. Castiel was sort of terrible at sleeping. Dean hadn’t known someone could be bad at sleeping outside of plain old insomniac, but Cas managed it. He couldn’t fall asleep, he couldn’t stay asleep or at least not at night in bed like a normal person. Instead, he cat napped through life, passing out in the oddest places. Once Dean had actually found him out cold while standing up and leaning against a bookshelf. When he did fall asleep in bed, he always looked annoyed by the whole thing. 

Yet, no matter how Cas felt about sleep, Dean hadn’t woken up alone since Cas had planted himself on the other side of the bed with a determination that had leveled cities once upon a time. Dean might go to bed at night by himself, but in the morning there was Cas. Awake usually, a book propped in his lap or a cup of coffee nestled on his stomach like an oyster wrapped around its pearl. Sometimes asleep, legs akimbo, arms thrown every which way and annoyance stitched into his face. 

This morning, Dean smoothed a hand over Cas’ stomach and was pleased when the frown abated a little. The room was dark and warm, a cave buried safe under layers of concrete and ritual. There was safety here and Dean could indulge himself. He could run his fingertips over the hard points of bone under Cas skin, sweeping from the tip of a hip over the flat plane of stomach and the rising curve of ribs. Cas woke with rush of breath through his nose, but didn’t open his eyes. Instead, he made soft encouraging noises and burrowed slowly closer until they were a tangle of limbs. 

“Morning,” Dean cupped the back of Cas’ neck, bumped their noses gently together. 

“Yes, it is,” Cas grumbled. “You smell like whiskey.” 

“Just a nightcap.” 

“Mmm,” the kiss was closed lipped with a bare whisper of pressure. Dean leaned into it, drew it out with more intent. 

He ran his hand through Cas’ hair, disheveling it beyond hope of return. Cas slung his leg over Dean’s hip and drew him impossibly closer. The lazy ease of it settled under Dean’s skin and unwound the tight knots of tension that until recently had been a permanent fixture. Even when Dean had stayed those long months with Lisa, he had been too deep in mourning to enjoy this kind of thing. 

Outside, down the hall there was a clatter of dishes and strands of terrible music. Sam was probably making a heart healthy gag-worthy breakfast for himself. Maybe they’d get up and join him eventually, maybe not. Either way, Sam was out there, existing as a steady anchor and probably rolling his eyes at Dean’s closed door. 

They’d stay here awhile longer, Dean decided. Maybe they’d have sex. Certainly Cas’ erection, hot through the worn cotton of his briefs, was making a convincing case for it. It would have to be later though, when Dean could shake the last of the cobwebs from his mind. Right now, there was just this: the kiss, the strands of Cas’ hair sliding through Dean’s fingers and the knot of their bodies under cotton. 

“My life is awesome,” Dean confided, rubbing his nose up against Cas’ and trying not to feel utterly ridiculous. 

“Too early to talk,” Cas groaned, dipping his head down to kiss at Dean’s neck. 

“K,” Dean closed his eyes and rolled over onto his back until Cas was draped over him. 

He danced fingers down the knobs of Cas’ spine, the strong muscle built up with so much care and tenacity. This was Cas as he had remade himself: a little bit human, a little bit angel, but mostly something altogether new and fantastic. That he had taken this newness and wormed under Dean’s comforter, settling there as if he’d always belonged left Dean at a loss for words. 

“Your self-satisfied grin is ruining my nap,” Cas informed him tartly. 

“Sorry,” Dean lied. “You could always pass out on the washing machine again.” 

“It does have very soothing vibrations.” 

“I’ve got some smooth vibrations going on here too.” 

“Innuendo,” Castiel said with maximum disgust as if he wasn’t slowly getting off on a glacial rub against Dean’s thigh. “I thought we agreed to no talking.” 

“You started it.” 

“Childish,” Cas sniffed again, but he kissed the curve of Dean’s shoulder with a disturbing tenderness. 

“Truth,” Dean argued. “Anyway, we’re driving out to a job later. You can sleep in the backseat.” 

“I could sleep now.” 

“You could.” Dean slid two fingers under the waistband of Cas’ underwear. “But you won’t.” 

“I won’t,” Cas agreed and the kiss turned to a bite. 

Down the hall, Sam dropped something and muffled a curse. Dean didn’t get up to check on him, didn’t give it a second thought. He lost himself in Cas’ nipping teeth and calloused grip. They weren’t ambitious, just the slide of their bodies together until Cas shook deliciously apart, pressing down on Dean like he could freeze him there in time. When Dean followed him over, eyes squeezed shut, he clung with equal fervor. 

When he opened his eyes again, Cas smiled that slightly unhinged smile of his, 

“Dean Winchester,” he said as if it were the most satisfying and complete statement in the world. 

“Castiel,” Dean shook his head then reached out to touch the laugh lines spreading from the corner of Cas’ lips. “Crazy bastard.” 

“I thought I was miraculous.” 

“I never said that.” 

“Didn’t you?” Cas asked mildly. 

“Stop eavesdropping on my thoughts, man,” he protested weakly. “Especially first thing in the morning.” 

“No,” Cas wrinkled his nose. “Don’t think I will. They’re much charitable when you’re half-awake. Very sweet.” 

“Kill me now,” Dean groaned. 

“If it helps, I found you miraculous from the first moment I lifted your soul from Hell’s grasp.” 

“Oh, shut up!” Dean laughed. “God, Cas. You’ll give me diabetes with that crap.” 

“You’re massive pie intake will get there before me.” 

They mocked wrestled, tangling themselves helplessly in the sheets until Cas gave into laughter. It was strange watching him laugh, how his body shook and his neck flushed. Real full out laughter was a new thing for Cas and Dean had watched it develop with the intensity of a scientist over a volatile, precious chemical reaction. 

His angel laughed. His angel. In his bed. Laughing. Dean sealed this moment away, memory in amber. The world could only be so kind in the briefest of snatches and this was one he could take out on the bad days to remind himself why he bothered putting one foot in front of the other. Just one of those tiny, everyday miracles.


End file.
